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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144319">The Closet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumberbabie/pseuds/cucumberbabie'>cucumberbabie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:34:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumberbabie/pseuds/cucumberbabie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows, of course he does, that people are inclined to think that Moira is a hotheaded, neurotic, caricature of a woman. In a sense, she can be. She has a flair for the dramatics and doesn’t always think with the coolest of processes. But he knows better. He knows her past, knows what she’s been through to become the person she is today.</p><p>Johnny’s thoughts after Moira crawls into the closet. Post 5.14</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Johnny Rose/Moira Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Johnny has been the husband of Moira Rose for over 35 years. He likes to think he knows her, likes to think he can predict how she will react or what she will need. Usually he’s right. But sometimes, when he’s wrong, he’s weighed down by the guilt of his own inability. </p><p>When he first heard the scream from the room next door, he hadn’t registered from whom it had come. It wasn’t until Stevie pulled on his bicep and he turned that he saw his wife, pale and crying on the ground, and he knew exactly what was going on. Now he moves swiftly, clocking her proximity to the closet, the people all around them, the phone clutched in her hand.</p><p>“If it's a bad review, Moira, I wouldn't trust local critics.” He fights to keep his voice light, not just for her sake, but for his own</p><p>Moira is remarkably quiet as she quivers out an explanation. “No... no, they uh-“ She stutters. “They shelved the Crows movie.” She takes a shuddering breath. “So it's- it's over.”</p><p>Blood rushes through Johnny’s ears. He watches, wide eyed, as Moira continues to mumble ‘it’s over’ while she turns and shuts herself in the closet. The sound of her quiet wail propels his feet forward and he moves to stand in front of the closed door, instinctually putting himself between Moira and the world. “Nothing to see here, people. The party's over.” He tries to move the onlookers away. As David begins to speak, Johnny listens only to the quiet, keening sounds of his wife. </p><p>They clean up the rooms after everyone leaves. Moira has gone quiet, her whimpers only audible every once in a while. Alexis and David disperse with Stevie and Patrick to their own room, shutting the door slowly. After a few minutes he hears the soft snick of their front door opening and closing and he is quietly grateful to them for leaving him be to figure out what to do with Moira. He’s been through this before, has a thousand tactics up his sleeve for cajoling a distraught Moira out of a confined space, and yet each time he has to do it he seems to forget what to do.</p><p>He runs through scenarios in his mind. Moira might want to shower. He moves to the bathroom and checks that all her items are lined up neatly on the bathtub edge. He hangs a towel and her robe on the back of the door.</p><p>She might want to stay in the closet. He moves over to the bed and collects her pillow and the top duvet, setting them on the table for easy access. He fills a glass with water and reaches for her nightly pills, setting them within reach.</p><p>She might want him to just talk to her. He pulls the bench over and places his book on it, prepared to read to her if need be. </p><p>She might want to be left alone. He pushes the bench a little farther away.</p><p>Satisfied that he is prepared for any scenario, he steps toward the closet and knocks gently. “Sweetheart?” He calls softly. He waits for a reply. When none comes, he sits down on the bench and knocks lower, speaking towards where he thinks her head may be. “Moira?” </p><p>A quiet sob emerges from under the door. “John?” </p><p>There is a lump in his throat when he replies: “I’m here, honey.” </p><p>“It’s over, Johnny.” Her voice is quiet, cracked with tears. “It’s all over.”</p><p>Johnny places a hand against the closet door. His heart tightens with immeasurable grief for the pain his wife is experiencing.</p><p>He knows, of course he does, that people are inclined to think that Moira is a hotheaded, neurotic, caricature of a woman. In a sense, she can be. She has a flair for the dramatics and doesn’t always think with the coolest of processes. But he knows better. He knows her past, knows what she’s been through to become the person she is today. She wasn’t always like this, and yet she has always been like this. It’s just who she is. She’s insecure, she’s nervous. She needs to have a clear, defined, acknowledged role in society. When she doesn’t, when her plans and expectations fall through, her breakdowns give hints at her fears. Johnny knows that part of his role as her husband is to share the burdens that she takes to heart so strongly, and he takes that role seriously. He loves her now every bit as he did the day he married her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here, 35 odd years later, calming her down as she cried in a closet. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Moira. I’m so, so sorry.” He manages around the tightness of his throat. “Is there anything I can do?” He waits for a response and receives none. “Honey?” The hand on the door closes into a fist. “Can I open the door?” Again, no reply. </p><p>He tries the handle. It sticks slightly, then pulls aside revealing Moira, curled in a ball against the back corner, body shaking. She makes no move to look at him or to get up. </p><p>Johnny sits back down on the bench. “I’ll be right here.” He tells her, and begins his wait. </p><p>Throughout their marriage, this scene has replayed in various ways, for various reasons. There was that time when they were accidentally left off the invitation list for a dinner at Bill and Melinda’s, or when the power had gone out at their Christmas party one year during The Number. There were worse times, too, like when she was written off Sunrise Bay. Worse, still, were the few events earlier in their marriage that rocked them both: David’s premature birth, when Moira’s mother died, the first time they lost Alexis at a colleague’s estate and couldn’t find her for two days (she had been in the kitchen the entire time, apparently unaware that she was the only one playing hide-and-seek. Moira had been distraught, and had forbidden the then-three year old to ever play the game again). Her stints in the closet, or whatever other small, confined space she can find, last from a few hours to a few weeks.</p><p>Johnny knows Moira has detached herself from emotions over the years. Their children don’t remember it but there was once a time that their mother did in fact act like a mother. But like many things in her life, Moira let that go in favour of protecting herself from the pain that mothering could bring. In a way, this downturn of luck has been a blessing, for they’ve been able to get to know their children again. Though he would never say that to Moira, especially not now.</p><p>Eventually, Moira shifts and Johnny straightens, ready to spring into action. She says not a word as she raises her arms for him to take. He lifts her onto her unsteady feet and guides her to sit on the bench where he had been. Slowly, methodically, he removes her jewellery and clothing, helping her to change into pyjamas. He buttons her vest. He holds out two brooches for her to pick from. </p><p>The shoes get moved aside and the pillow and duvet find their way to the floor of the closet, spread out so that Moira can lay down. She sinks back down onto the floor and Johnny swears she is asleep before he even tucks the duvet around her. </p><p>Slowly, carefully, mindful of his aching knees, he kneels and smooths a gentle hand through her hair, assuring himself that she’s alright, tucked against the back wall of the closet. Then he raises up and shuts the closet door, taking his seat on the bench again and pulling his book out to read while he keeps vigil over her. Eventually he will move to their bed, once he’s sure she’s going to sleep peacefully. </p><p>The hours pass and the children return. They knock on the door and pull it open, filling the doorway cautiously. He presses his lips into what he hopes is a reassuring smile, whispering for them to go off to bed. They do so reluctantly, and his throat tightens anew at their concern. They’re so used to the dramatics of their mother, so used to the screaming and crying. When she goes silent it’s almost worse for them. But this silence is what Johnny knows- she doesn’t put on a show when she thinks it’s only he that’s around.</p><p>Long after the lights in the room next door turn off, when the air turns chilly from the open window in the bathroom, Johnny rises from his seat of vigil and readies himself for bed. He’s not heard a sound from the closet since Moira returned to it and he’s glad that, if she is sleeping, she’s getting a moment’s peace. He wishes the same for him and adds a byline for patience for the upcoming days as he settles himself under the sheet on their bed. It feels large without Moira but he stays on his side in case she emerges sometime in the night and joins him. </p><p>With exhausted lids he falls asleep, heart heavy for what his wife has endured, and even heavier that the success of the night was so easily shattered by what happened. He’s endlessly proud of her. He wishes that were enough. He knows it is and yet, it’s not. All he can hope is that she’ll come out of this like she’s come out of every episode before: stronger.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Johnny remembers the first time he found Moira in the closet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The next morning Johnny half expects to feel Moira beside him in bed, half hopes that by some miracle this episode isn’t as bad as the others, that she’s grown in the years they’ve been here. But the bed is cold on her side and he knows she’s not there.</p><p class="p1">He doesn’t hear movement next door so he allows himself a few moments to lay in bed and think. The mornings are always hard, when he wakes alone and he knows she’s waking alone, too. Not entirely alone, either of them. But not quite right, either. But he’ll have a better idea by the end of the day how long Moira will be in the closet. He’s become exceptionally good at wagering the length of her self-imposed seclusion.</p><p class="p1">Johnny turns onto his side to watch the closet doors. This closet is small, smaller than she’s accustomed to. Excluding the time she googled herself early in their time here, it’s been quite a while since she’s sequestered herself in such a confined space. Years, decades maybe. It’s another thing about this place that frustrates him- that Moira has to sit in a closet an eighth of the size she should be sitting in. But that, too, is out of his control.</p><p class="p1">The first time he ever found her in a closet, it actually was a closet this size, possibly even smaller. Despite himself, he smiles at the memory. She was alright fairly quickly after that one. It was an eye opening experience for him, to experience Moira Rose- Moira McGrane at that time, though it wouldn’t long after that she became a Rose- allowing others to see her in her vulnerability. If he recalls correctly, he had begun his night on a high from signing the contract that expanded Rose Video into twelve more states. He had expected she would join him on that high, but she hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t joined him at all.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br/>
<br/>
</span></p>
<hr/><p class="p1"><br/>
<em>Johnny taps his fingers against the dark oak counter of the small pub, checking his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. Moira is late. Very late. Over forty minutes, to be exact, and he is starting to think she isn’t coming at all.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You waiting on someone? Want me to open a tab?” The bartender calls to him, probably assuming that he’s been stood up. Technically he has, but he refuses to believe it’s on purpose. Moira has never stood him up in the entire eight months they’ve been dating, not once.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“No, thanks. I’ll just pay for this.” He holds up his drink and pulls out his wallet to drop some bills onto the counter. He wonders if he should go over to her place and check on her, make sure she isn’t sick.</em>
</p><p class="p1">The key. <em>He remembers. Moira had given him a key to her apartment last week. She shared it with another girl, Rachel? Rebecca? He can’t quite remember. (He usually has more important things on his mind when he’s over there). Moira said she was going home for a week and so it seemed ‘the opportune moment to dispense the entrance means to her boyfriend if only to avoid needing to answer the door physically each time he called’. He has yet to use it. Well, until tonight.</em></p><p class="p1">
  <em>Exiting the pub, he looks around and spots a bus stop. Moira’s apartment is in a part of town he’s generally unfamiliar with. It’s not accessible by the underground subway so he has to rely on bus routes and from this part of the city he’s not as confident in his ability to figure it out. All the more reason to be impressed with Moira, he thinks.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He steps up onto the next bus that comes and drops his payment into the box. He slides into his seat and stares out the window, wondering what he should say when he arrives. He finds he’s not disappointed or angry that she didn’t show. Just worried. It’s new for him, and he doesn’t like the feeling of not knowing if she’s okay one bit.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>When he arrives at her stop he hurries off the bus and walks the four blocks from the bus corner to her apartment. She’s on the third floor and he can see that her light is on. If he is remembering correctly, her roommate isn’t due back until the following day, which means Moira must be home. He opens the main door with the master key and then takes the stairs two at a time. When he arrives at her apartment door he pauses before he knocks. Moira gave him a key for a reason. He unlocks the door and steps into her warm apartment.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Moira?” He calls. He brushes his shoes off on the mat and steps further into the apartment. It’s not large, and it takes him only a few seconds to see that she’s nowhere to be found. Worry floods his chest again. “Moira, are you here?” He calls, heading back towards the door. He wonders if he should call someone. “It’s Johnny!”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>A small sound reaches his ears and he looks to his right. His brow furrows. “Moira?” </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I’m in here.” Her small voice filters through what he soon realises are the slats in the entry closet door. “I’m- I missed our date.” She cracks out.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“That’s okay.” He’s still so confused. He crouches down towards where he thinks she may be. “What happened?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She’s quiet for a long time. “I got a bad call.” She breaths out by way of explanation. She doesn’t offer up any more information but he can guess that the call was related to an audition she was waiting to hear back on. She had been so excited about it.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He waits to see if she’ll say something else. When she doesn’t, he fiddles with the end of his tie. “Uh, do- do you want to talk about it?” He wishes his voice wasn’t so unsure. But this wasn’t in his evening plans and he’s still adjusting.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“No, thank you.” Moira whispers to him. Something in the closet gets shoved over, and he can hear it drag along the floor.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He clears his throat and nods. “Okay.” He lets his eyes roam around the entry. For a few weeks now he’s been toying with the idea of asking Moira to move in with him, to get her out of this dusty old apartment and into somewhere nice, where she can be treated well and wouldn’t need to worry about cooking and cleaning and paying her bills. But she’s been resistant to give up the apartment that she worked so hard to acquire, and she seems to enjoy her roommate- Ruth, he remembers now. Johnny is loathe to pull her away from what she likes, even if he does get nervous about the idea of her riding the bus so late at night in this area of town.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She hasn’t said anything in quite a while, he realises, and he shuffles his feet. “Do you want me to go?” He asks, pointing towards the front door though he knows she can’t see him.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She sniffs behind the doors. “Uh...” Her voice is wobbly now. “Could you stay?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>His heart melts. “Sure.” He nods and removes his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. He lowers down onto the hardwood and crosses his legs at the ankles, leaning back against the entry wall. He toes off his shoes quietly and reaches down to place them next to him on the small shoe rack, usually overrun with Moira’s colourful heels, but now oddly empty.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He’s never been too good with silence, and especially not with Moira’s. She’s never silent. He searches for something to fill the empty space. “Uh, today- today we signed a deal to expand into the Midwest States.” His chest puffs out slightly in pride. “We’ll be in Chicago, even. Of course that means hiring more branch managers, but the money’s there, sweetheart, and I think-“</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Johnny?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Yeah?” He stops at the sound of her voice and looks towards the doors</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“We don’t have to talk.” She whispers.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He swallows nervously. “Oh. Okay.” He clasps his hands and leans his head back. “I’ll just wait.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>So Johnny waits. He sits on the floor outside of the closet for hours, into the early morning. He’s fairly sure he nods off for a short while, and he’s fairly sure Moira may be asleep entirely. But he waits because she asked him to and he’d move Heaven and Earth for her if he could. He hopes she knows that.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>When the vestiges of night are giving way to the pale orange glow of morning, he blinks his eyes open and squints, taking in his surroundings. He’s still sitting against the wall beside the closet doors. No words come from within but he can hear her shifting.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Johnny?” Her timid voice calls out after several minutes, as if expecting him to be gone.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I’m-“ His voice crackles, and he clears his throat. “I’m here, honey.” The words slip out so easily. He knows he could talk to her for the rest of his life.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She is quiet for a long time. Then, very slowly, the door slides open revealing his beloved. She looks about as good as he probably does. She’s been crying, her hair is frizzy from the coats. She’s wearing what he can only assume is what she had picked out to wear on their date the previous night. But she’s radiant and his love for her only increases</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“You stayed.” She whispers, voice a mix of awe and confusion.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He sits up straighter. “Well, yeah.” He doesn’t mean to be so blunt. “I mean, you asked me to.” He shifts over to sit nearer to her. The closet boundary still separates them. He reaches out and takes one of her hands. It’s cold in his from a night on the floor.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“No one’s ever... stayed before.” Moira whispers to him, and his heart twists. Had she really never had anyone there with her before?</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He rubs his thumb back and forth over her hand. “Well I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>She bites her lip and he sees a flash of the Moira he’s used to. “I’m... I’m high maintenance. I’m demanding- though I do believe I’ve earned the right to demand what I require.” Her voice pitches slightly and her chin lifts. “I am not an amateur, Johnny.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He smiles at her and shakes his head.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“But no one’s ever stayed.” She repeats, voice quiet again. Her gaze drops down to their hands. “And I... I’m not sure what it means that you did.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">It means I want to stay for the rest of my life. <em>Johnny thinks. But he doesn’t say it. Not yet. Not while the love of his life is curled up in the back of an entry hall closet. Instead he just holds her hand and slides into the closet next to her, his legs sticking out. If her roommate came home she might think it odd, but he doesn’t care. He’d sit in closets for the rest of his life if it meant Moira McGrane would be next to him.</em><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"><br/>
Johnny gets up and collects his clothes from the previous night. He’ll have to open the doors to get a new outfit if he leaves, but he’s unlikely to leave today anyway. He changes and drops down onto the bench.</p><p class="p1">There’s still no movement from the closet, but it’s early yet. Johnny knows the likelihood that this will be over in a day is slim. He’ll be lucky if it’s over within a week. But he’s prepared to wait it out. Moira Rose is worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Someone suggested that I write another chapter to this, so I worked this out in my head for awhile and finally wrote it down. Of course we know a bit about Moira and Johnny's past, but not much, so any inaccuracies are my own. I gave Moira the name McGrane after my mother's maiden name- Canadian Irish Catholic, just like Moira. :-) </p><p>Thank you again for all your encouraging words. What a sweet community!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Open to feedback but be a little gentle. :,) I’ve written fics for years but I’ve never shared them with anyone but myself. This is the first one I’m putting out into the universe... I just have always felt that there was more to Johnny and Moira’s relationship than what most people see and I wanted to share that.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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